Sunday, August 2, 2009

A Quickstep to Your Dirge

I hear the gravely nostalgia,
an inarticulate genre
of American roots,
strumming kindred
rolling blades...

A sharpening awareness
butter churns a wink
and a slow dance;
cheek to nipple, delivering
raised upturned brows
and crooked grins to
speak in silent tongues.

The swaying dance
of a token minute,
precedes a tidal moment
of a savory minuet;
timeless in fetching clutch
and whispering touch-

un fait accompli
head to head,
pinch and tweak,
thrust and squeak...

we save the sands
of the hourglass
in flip tide and green grass.

There's no sleeping
in the daylit hours-
efficiency has its just desserts
in rocking shores of an easy chair.


  1. This is simply a beautiful, brilliantly crafted poem. Splendido!

  2. Thank you Megan, it's those spontaneous moments that just stir the soul.